


Piano Lesson

by ItsNotEasyBeingQueen



Category: Glee
Genre: Dalton!Klaine, M/M, alternate first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsNotEasyBeingQueen/pseuds/ItsNotEasyBeingQueen
Summary: Cute alternate first meeting of Blaine and Kurt at Dalton involving a rainstorm and a piano.  Mention of past bullying, but nothing graphic.  Mostly just sweetness & fluff.





	Piano Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> I've been posting on FF dot net for almost two years. I just finished posting my first fic here on AO3, and several people encouraged me to repost my other stories on this site. Who am I to say no to that? This was the first story I ever posted, so it seemed like a good place to start. Hope you enjoy!

Blaine was just about to open the door to the Dalton Academy dorm building when he remembered something – he had left his notebook from the afternoon’s Warbler practice on the piano in the rehearsal room.  He dropped his head in exasperation and then turned to look back toward the school building.  He could just leave it until tomorrow, but he really wanted to work out some of the parts they’d discussed, and he wouldn’t have time tomorrow morning. 

“Well, Anderson,” he sighed to himself, “better just get going.”

As he took his first steps, he glanced upwards and noticed the darkened sky.  He broke into a sprint in an attempt to beat the threatening rain, reaching the front door of the school just as the first sprinkles began to fall.  He tried not to think about the trip back which would undoubtedly end in him getting soaking wet.

He made his way down the hall toward the music room.  The school was empty, and his footsteps rang out on the polished floors.  Warbler practice had ended half an hour earlier, and they were usually the last ones out of the building.  Blaine stopped short, then, when he thought he caught the sound of a tentative chord being played on the piano.  He stood silently for a few seconds, then slowly moved forward again, just in time to hear another chord.  As he turned the corner to the hallway leading to the music room, he saw the door, which he knew had been closed, now standing about halfway open.  Drawing nearer, the chords became louder, and then were joined by a voice.

The voice sang softly, almost the way one would sing a lullaby to a sleepy child, but was still clear.  Unbelievably clear.  Blaine didn’t recognize it, and knew it definitely did not belong to any of his fellow show choir members.

He walked softly to the door, wanting to get a look at the intruder without making his presence known.  The angle of the piano to the door allowed him to peer in without being observed.

At the piano sat a boy, about his own age, maybe a year older.  He was tall and lean, with the most beautiful face Blaine had ever seen.  Beautiful seemed an odd word to use in describing another guy, but it was the only word that  fit.  His chestnut hair was styled perfectly, and his fair skin was flawless.  Blaine found his attention drawn away from his observations and back to the voice that had been floating down the hallway.  He now recognized the song as “Blackbird” as he listened, mesmerized by the almost ethereal voice emanating from the boy.  It was so pure and clear, but he could tell the boy was holding back, as if trying desperately not to be heard.

As the song continued, Blaine involuntarily began to sing along in harmony at the beginning of the chorus.  He didn’t think about it; it was just a force of habit.  Apparently, he was louder than he intended, because the boy at the piano suddenly stopped singing and looked toward the door, startled.  His eyes widened as he realized he was no longer alone, and had been caught where he didn’t belong. 

“I’m so sorry, I . . .” he began, looking around the room almost as if searching for another way out other than the door in which Blaine stood.  Blaine stepped into the room, holding a hand up as he spoke over the boy, “No, no.  It’s okay.  You’re fine, really.”  The boy seemed to relax slightly, but not completely. 

They were both silent for a moment, studying each other.  While Blaine had had the opportunity to study Kurt from the doorway, this was Kurt’s first chance to do the same.  His eyes swept over the classically handsome face, the meticulously gelled hair and the kind hazel eyes looking into his own.   _Wow,_ he thought, then panicked for a second as he wondered if he’d said that thought out loud. 

Blaine finally stepped forward, holding out his hand to introduce himself.  “Hi,” he began.  “I’m Blaine.”

The boy looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then back up into Blaine’s face as he returned the gesture.  “Hi, Blaine,” he said.  “I’m Kurt.” 

_Kurt_ , Blaine thought.  _Nice_.  He looked into Kurt’s face, taking in his features, including startlingly blue eyes.  “So, Kurt,” Blaine said, “not to be rude, but what brings you to the music room at this hour?”  He noticed a worried look return to Kurt’s face, and he rushed on, “I mean,” he stumbled, “uh, no, really, it’s fine that you’re here, I just didn’t know anyone would be here now.”

Kurt’s expression shifted a bit, and he looked down in what appeared to be embarrassment.  He withdrew his had from Blaine’s, at which time Blaine realized that he had been holding Kurt’s hand for the past minute or two.  He felt his own face redden a bit at the thought.  _Easy, Anderson_ , he thought.

Kurt looked back up and finally replied.  “Well, I just wanted to sing for a few minutes, and since I knew practice was over, I thought I could slip in without bothering anyone.  I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong.  It’s just that this is the only place in the school with a piano, and it has the most amazing acoustics.” 

“Yeah, we’re really lucky to have a rehearsal space like this,” Blaine agreed.  He slipped his bag off of his shoulder and placed it on the floor next to the piano.  Kurt still sat rather stiffly on the piano bench.  He wasn’t sure yet exactly how this was going to go.  This Blaine seemed friendly enough, but Kurt was naturally on guard these days.

Blaine leaned his arms on the top of the piano, clearly having no desire to kick Kurt out of the room and  hoping his casual stance would put Kurt more at ease.  Outside, he heard the rain pick up a bit as the first low rumbles of thunder rolled somewhere off in the distance.

“So you’re new here.  How long have you been at Dalton?”

“A couple of days.  I moved into my dorm Wednesday, but I don’t start classes until next week.  I’ve been doing some catch-up work until I get into my full schedule.”

“Catch-up work?”

“Yeah.  I was . . . out of school for a couple of weeks before I transferred.”  Kurt shifted uncomfortably as Blaine continued to look directly into his eyes.   Kurt couldn’t help but feel his pulse quicken, cursing to himself for opening a door to a conversation he really didn’t want to have.  _Don’t ask_ , he thought.

“How come?” Two words, simple enough, but not at all what Kurt wanted to hear.  His jaw tightened a bit, but he held Blaine’s gaze and decided it was now or never.  He’d have to tell the story soon enough; he may as well start now.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine continued before Kurt could begin, “it’s really none of my business, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”  He smiled reassuringly, making Kurt melt a bit and hope he wouldn’t slip off the bench onto the floor.

“I really liked what you were singing as I came in,” he went on, changing the subject.  Blaine always talked a little too much when he was nervous.  “You have such a unique tone.  I’ve never heard anyone sing quite like that.  You should absolutely try out for the Warblers.  You’d be amazing, I’m sure.”  Kurt blushed and smiled at the compliment, lowering his eyes for a moment.  “But why were you singing so quietly?  I mean, nobody’s here.   You could rattle the rafters and no one would know.”

There was something so open and genuine about Blaine that Kurt found himself telling the tale he’d been desperately hoping to avoid just a moment before.

“That sort of brings us back to your question about why I was out of school,” he began.  He looked back up at Blaine and continued.  “At my old school, I had kind of a rough time with a few of the other guys.  A couple of homophobic football players in particular.  Anyway, one of them decided that I was in need of a lesson, and decided to teach it by beating me up.”  His voice cracked a bit when speaking the last few words, but he maintained eye contact with Blaine, whose eyes were now filled with concern – not pity, but sympathy.  Blaine remained silent, however, seeming to sense that Kurt needed to finish what he had to say without interruption.

“Anyway,” Kurt went on, regaining his voice, “I wound up with a few broken ribs, among other things.  I’ve been cleared to return to a full class schedule next week, but the doctor recommended I limit some of my physical activities – like the dancing I’d do in show choir – and advised that I lay off the singing, at least for a couple more weeks, just to be safe.  Apparently, one of the ribs I broke would be aggravated by the breathing I’d be doing as I sang, especially if I sang with any force or volume.  Besides, taking a deep breath still hurts pretty bad, which makes singing difficult.  So, I’m here at Dalton now, away from the Neanderthals who roam the halls of my old school, and sidelined from performing for a while.”

Blaine took a deep breath as he processed everything he’d just heard.  He knew all too well what it was like to be abused for being out, as he had had a similar experience at his last school before transferring to Dalton.  He swallowed hard to force back the tears he felt threatening to emerge, and walked around the side of the piano to the bench where Kurt still sat.  “May I?” he asked quietly, indicating the bench.  Kurt nodded, sliding over toward the other end to make some room, and wincing slightly at the movement, his hand briefly touching his ribcage as a reflex.

Blaine sat down sideways on the bench so that he could face Kurt.  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he started.  “I’ve been there myself.”  He put his hand briefly on Kurt’s knee, giving him a sympathetic smile, and then removed his hand.  It was a swift gesture of compassion, nothing more. 

The thunder rumbled outside again, louder than before as the storm moved closer.  The rain continued to pound against the windows of the music room, drawing the attention of Kurt and Blaine away from each other momentarily.  Blaine took the opportunity to lighten the mood once more.

“Well,” he said with a grin, “I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly not going out there anytime soon.”  He spun around on the bench so that he was facing the piano and began idly playing a random melody.  “I heard you playing a few chords as I came in,” he continued, making Kurt wonder just how long Blaine had listened before making himself known, “do you play?”

“Not really,” Kurt replied.  “My mom started giving me lessons, but she died when I was eight, and I never really kept it up after that.”  Blaine looked sharply at Kurt at the mention of his mother’s passing.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.  “Thanks,” Kurt returned with a small smile.

Blaine continued playing softly on the piano, mostly as a nervous habit to keep down the jitters he was feeling from sitting next to Kurt.  He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.  He had only known Kurt a few moments, but he already could tell there was something different about this boy, something . . . special.

“I could teach you,” Blaine blurted out, his eyes going wide as he realized what he’d said.  Who did he think he was?  Kurt just said he had stopped learning how to play when his mother died, and now Blaine was offering to pick up where she left off?  What?

He looked over at Kurt, who was staring at him oddly.  His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, and then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, just for a second.

“Do you always offer to give lessons to new students?” he asked with a playful tone that eased Blaine’s worries about overstepping.  “No,” Blaine laughed, “I just thought you might like to continue learning.  Clearly, you’re still interested.”  The room was suddenly illuminated by a bright flash of lightning, quickly followed by a loud clap of thunder.  Both boys jumped, then laughed at themselves and each other.  Neither could remember being so at ease with a stranger so quickly. 

“We’ve got some time now,” Kurt said, “unless you want to make a run for it, but I don’t think your hair would hold up,” he laughed, glancing at Blaine’s gelled hair. 

Blaine turned to Kurt and let out a dramatic gasp as his hand flew to his heart.  “You wound me, sir!” he exclaimed.  As Kurt laughed aloud, briefly wincing as he remembered his injured ribs, Blaine added, “three words, Kurt:  pot, kettle, black,” which he punctuated with a pointed look at Kurt’s own meticulously styled coif.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt giggled.  “Touché.”

Blaine just shook his head and squared himself back to the piano, starting to play again.  “So, if I’m going to teach you, I need to know what you know.  What do you remember?”

“We’re really doing this?” Kurt asked.  Blaine just raised his eyebrows as if to say, uh, yeah, and Kurt shrugged his shoulders.  “Okay.  Well, we just did a lot of the basics – scales, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle,’ ‘Heart and Soul’ that kind of thing.

“Ooh!  Let’s do that one!” Blaine exclaimed, bouncing up and down like a toddler on the piano bench.

Kurt raised his eyebrows and playfully asked, “What are you, five?”

“Uh huh!” Blaine replied, clapping his hands and exaggeratingly sounding like a child.  They both laughed for a moment, then Blaine settled down and put his hands back on the keys.  “Just play ‘Heart and Soul.’  It’ll be fun.  Promise.”

Kurt smiled as he placed his hands on the keys and began playing the well-known opening chords.  Blaine chimed in with the melody after two bars, simply plucking out the notes one at a time the first time through.  Kurt looked over at him (realizing he had been watching his own hands much too intently for such a simple piece), and as the first round came near the end, Blaine glanced over and softly said, “Keep going, but take the melody.”

Kurt obliged, faltering slightly as Blaine slid off the right side of the bench and deftly passed behind Kurt to take up the left hand without missing a beat.  Blaine, being the more experienced pianist, took the opportunity to get a little fancy with the chords, making the simple tune sound much more elaborate.  Kurt slid over as Blaine took his place on the left edge of the bench, and Kurt tried desperately not to blush as Blaine’s leg pressed up against his when he reached for the pedals.

The next thing Kurt knew, Blaine began to sing softly – just loud enough for Kurt to hear:

_Heart and Soul, I fell in love with you,_  
_Lost control, the way a fool would do,_  
_Madly, because you held me tight,  
_ _And stole a kiss in the night . . ._

For the second time in half an hour, Kurt hoped he wouldn’t melt and slide off the bench onto the floor.  For his part, Blaine was trying his best not to stumble over the keys as he leaned towards Kurt to play.

Finally, the song came to a close, and the boys looked at each other happily before looking down shyly when they realized how close they still were to each other.

“Not bad, newbie,” Blaine said, breaking the silence by trying to sound cool and hoping Kurt didn’t hear the slight tremor in his voice.  “You’ll make an excellent student, I’m sure.”  Kurt smiled back, not sure of what to say.   He glanced at the window over Blaine’s shoulder and noticed that it had gotten a little brighter outside.

“Well, Teach,” he said, nodding toward the window, “it looks like it has finally let up out there.”  He slipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time and was shocked to see how late it had gotten.  “We should get going,” he said with a sigh that betrayed his disappointment as he turned his phone to show Blaine the time. 

“I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun,” Blaine said with a half-smile.  He patted Kurt on the knee and said, “Let’s go.  I’ll walk you back to the dorms.”

They reluctantly rose from the bench, collected their things, and made their way down the hall to the front door and across the courtyard.  They chatted a little about school, and were delighted to learn that they would have two classes together when Kurt started next week, as well as lunch.  They made plans to meet up for piano lessons, and exchanged numbers so they could text each other.  Each planned to do so immediately upon returning to his room, though neither said it out loud. 

They reached the dorm building much too soon for either’s liking.  As Blaine was trying to think of what to say – everything in his head sounded like a bad romantic comedy line – Kurt put a hand out to stop them from walking and asked, “Blaine?  Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course, Kurt.”

“Why did you come into the rehearsal room this afternoon?  Warbler practice was over, and you never really said why you were there.”

Blaine stared at Kurt in disbelief.   He dropped his head to his chest and groaned, leaving Kurt confused momentarily.  Blaine shook his head and chuckled softly, then looked up and said, “I went there because I forgot my music notebook.  You know, the one that was sitting on the piano?”

“Um, you mean the one we _left_ on the piano?” Kurt responded with a smirk.

“Yep.  That’s the one.  I left it behind after practice and went back to get it, but I got, well . . . _distracted_.”

The look in Blaine’s eyes as he said the word “distracted” almost made Kurt’s knees buckle.  Little did he know that Blaine felt the exact same way as he said it. 

“So,” Blaine said, extending his hand, “want to come with me to get it?”  Kurt took his hand and they ran across the courtyard as the raindrops began to fall once more.  Kurt’s next piano lesson might begin sooner than they planned.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: as I post this, there is a thunderstorm going on outside. True story. :)


End file.
